


my north star (you make this cold world beautiful)

by whatiwouldnotgive



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Bisexual Sokka (Avatar), Cultural Differences, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Queer Themes, Western Air Temple, boys being soft, might fuck around and write an entire fic on cultural differences between the nations eventually, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 01:06:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18510802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatiwouldnotgive/pseuds/whatiwouldnotgive
Summary: polaris| pɔʊˈlɑɹɪs |noun.the pole star, a trinary star in the constellation Ursa Minor, a reliable gauge of North for navigation; also called North Star, polaris has been used as a guide for travelers for centuries from sailors to bondsmen and women fleeing slaveryfrom the Latin Stella polaris: Stella meaning 'star'; polaris from 'polus' meaning pole or an extreme point of an axis and 'āris,' a suffix used to form an adjective indicating a relationship to or pertaining toThis was how Sokka learned to view the world.  It was a worldview ill-suited to a traveler and friend and protector of the most wanted boy in the world.  It was also a worldview ill-suited to keeping secrets, the few of which he had, he kept tucked under his ribcage and close to his heart.Sokka and Zuko find each other while finding their way out of a war





	my north star (you make this cold world beautiful)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theroyalsavage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theroyalsavage/gifts).



> For Shea (theroyalsavage) who just wanted a nice, long Zukka fic. You're my North Star. Thank you for the laughs, kindness, support, and direction. You help me keep on moving forward, and I don't know where I'd be with out you.  
> Title from Florence+the Machine's Patricia.  
> I do not own Avatar. All rights belong to respective owners.

Some of Sokka’s earliest memories are the steady touch of his father’s hand on his back, soothing him to sleep; of Bato smoothing his hair back, wiping his tears after a fall on the ice; the warmth of the fire on his face, sitting at the feet of his tribe’s men laughing, telling stories together, leaning against one another.  The memory of the gentle intimacy in which the men he grew up surrounded by held with each other was a constant guide in his adolescence, without them there. An adolescence populated by Katara and Gran Gran and the other women who were not warriors and stayed to look after the village—the way women interacted with each other in their camaraderie.  The beauty in the marriages between two men or two women who fell in love. This was how Sokka learned to view the world.

It was a worldview ill-suited to a traveler and friend and protector of the most wanted boy in the world.  It was also a worldview ill-suited to keeping secrets, the few of which he had, he kept tucked under his ribcage and close to his heart.

He first realized the difference in his youth to much of the world when he first stepped foot in the North Pole.  The warrior men were aggressive and distant with one another. A rivalry born out of competition for prestige. (The fact that they had no woman warriors now too rankled at him.  He cringed to think of his first reaction to Suki and her warriors. The Northern Tribe’s exclusion of women seemed a crime most unjust.) After Yue was gone, and Sokka found himself leaning into a fellow warrior after a late night, pleasantly tipsy, and looking to heal the ragged edges of his heart.  The other man had flinched away. (“—We don’t do that here, Sokka.”) The dissonance between their tribes gaped like a wound. Sokka’s longing for his father ached deep and pulsing in chest.

One night when they were up late after Katara and Toph had fallen asleep, Sokka and Aang talked long into the late, late night.  Sokka loved the way Aang’s eyes sparkled when he weaved stories of his childhood spent high in the air. This night they sat on the porch of their little Ba Sing Se home, a warm breeze ruffling the hair that had fell loose around his face.  Aang lounged open and sleepy eyed against Sokka’s side.

“Did the air nomads marry men?” Sokka asked during a lull in the conversation, a little hesitant, a little tentative.

Aang’s round face turned up towards his, “Yeah, it was pretty common actually.  It wasn’t a marriage though. More like a ceremony of companionship. Between anyone, really.  Two men, two women. A man and woman. Sometimes Gyatso talked of people who weren’t either, but still got to bonded.  One time there was even a group of three who were bonded together.”

Sokka hummed in acknowledgement.  

“Why do you ask?” Aang said.

“When we were in the North Pole, I—” he began before stopping himself.

“What?”

“I tried to hug someone after we finished sparring, but he.  He gave me this look. Like he was disgusted. He said ‘We don’t do that here.’  But in my tribe, it’s so. . .common. I’ve just been thinking about it for a while now.”

Aang picked at the skin around his thumbnail.  He sighed, a rush of air that rustled the leaves of the nearby trees.  “Once when I was in the Fire Nation with my friend Kuzon—he lived there—I told him about a bonding ceremony between two men that Gyatso led, and I helped with.  He told me never to talk about it there again. _He_ didn’t mind, but other people did.  The Earth Kingdom’s even worse. One time we uh, oh.”  Aang cut himself off, looking out at skyline.

Sokka watched in brotherly amusement as he blushed a delicate pink, ardently avoiding Sokka’s gaze.

“What?” he pried, already knowing the answer, jostling Aang’s side, “Did you guys. . .” he puckered his lips, making obnoxious smooching noises.  Sokka was long practiced in the art of teasing his youngers about love.

Aang covered his face with his hands, the blush turning the tips of his ears red, “ _Ugh, Sokka,_ ” he said.  

Trying to even his voice out (for Aang’s pride’s sake), he said, “It’s alright.  So you guys kissed?”

“We were visiting Bumi.  I think we were 11. But we were walking around Omashu one night, and he just looked. . .I don’t know.  And we kissed. And this whole crowd started jeering at us. We ran away after that. He told me we couldn’t do that anymore, and I begged him to come to the air temple, but he said no.”

Sokka was quiet for a moment.  He counted the long breaths Aang took measured by the rise and fall of his birdcage chest.  Finally, he said, “I’m sorry.”

Aang wiped his face; Sokka put his arm around Aang’s shoulders and held him close.  

“Thank you.  I hope things have changed.  A hundred years is a long time.  Some places just take a little longer to catch up.”

They fell into a companionable silence after that with Aang eventually falling asleep against Sokka.  Sokka watched the late-night bustle of the city, eventually drifting off to the sound of chimes and wind and his own blood rushing in his ears.

With the constant pressure on their lives and the rapid movement from place to place, Sokka didn’t have much time to think about it.  After fighting their way out of Ba Sing Se, landing in the Fire Nation, and picking up Zuko, Sokka was often too exhausted to do any real internal examinations.  Turns out when you’re living in enemy territory, thinking of self-actualization isn’t exactly you’re highest priority.

There came a time; however, when they were sitting in the Western Air Temple, and Zuko was telling Fire Nation myths as firelight danced across the hazel of his eyes, that Sokka felt his stomach drop.  The war had felt so far away and Zuko’s teeth had glinted in the dim light following his echoing voice. He blew a small stream of fire that morphed into the small, warrior woman and her befriended dragon he described.  A childlike tone of wonder took hold of his voice. Their eyes met across the fire, and Zuko gave him a real, warm, _genuine_ smile.  (a little thing—tugging at the corners of his petal pink mouth)

 The only thought that crossed Sokka’s mind was _uh oh._

 

Katara banished them to gathering firewood one damp afternoon where the haze was so thick, the sun couldn’t hope to burn it all off, and the air dripped with the taste of ozone and loam.  Clouds, full and heavy, laboured with their unseen burden. Zuko took the lead, his walk surefooted and knowing along the ancient steps. Sokka watched his back. He watched the line of his shoulders which tapered into the sash knotted at his waist, hips swaying ever so slightly in a manner that mimicked Aang’s.  When the breeze picked his hair up and blew it around his face, the slope of his neck revealed a smattering of freckles left there by years in the sun.

“—ou listening to me?  Sokka?” Zuko said, stopping at the edge of a patch of forest.  

“Oh, sorry.  No, I was thinking.  What were you saying?”

“It looks like it’s gonna rain.  We should hurry so the wood doesn’t get wet.  

Sokka nodded, following Zuko into the woods.  He didn’t mention that Katara could the pull the water out of any wood; he wanted to hear more of that gentle tone in Zuko’s voice.  

The path they followed was timeworn and covered with soft pine needles.  Stillness settling pleasantly in his chest, Sokka could imagine the air nomads traversing this path every day, each step a meditation and prayer, their robes a shock of colour amongst the deep greens and browns.  It felt as though the copse itself was breathing, knitting itself back together and retaking the land once scorched barren not so long ago. Sometimes Sokka marveled at the sheer scope of the world beyond the icy plains of the South Pole.  

They began collecting twigs and larger logs in as neat of piles as they could manage.  When they were certain Katara be satisfied with their work, they sat cross-legged next to each other.  Sokka’s back ached pleasantly; Zuko leaned on his hands, staring up at the trees. Silence stretched between them, and Sokka longed to reach out and pull across it.

“Zuko,” Sokka said, “In the Fire Nation, can men be together?”

Zuko, looking sidelong at him, said, “It depends on who the man is.”

“Oh,” Sokka said.  “Which men get to?”

This was a dangerous line of questioning, he knew.  But there was that quiet, reckless, _heedless_ part of him that just wanted to shrug and say: _why not? What’s the worst he could say?_

Zuko said, “The merchants, the farmers.  Common people. It’s de facto legal, especially in the colonies.  No one outside of the—” he paused, considering his words, “—government cares anymore.”  The unspoken _royal family_ answered Sokka’s unasked question.  

There was that chasm again.  They stood on either side of it.  Observing.

Zuko said, “What’s it like in the Water Tribe?”

“I grew up seeing men and women together all the time.  My dad would officiate weddings. And when he was gone, Gran Gran took over.  It was considered a blessing. The men I knew were always affectionate too. Even if they weren’t together, I would see them hugging and crying together.  It was so different in the Northern tribe though.” Sokka said, pulling out a splinter and wiping away the welling blood.

“I didn’t know there were any differences.”

“I didn’t know either until we got there.  The men were closed. They didn’t like to touch each other.  I asked Yue if there were any couples, and she said very few, and they couldn’t get married.  It felt like an outsider in my own home.”

Zuko nodded.  He sat up, brushing dirt off his hands.  “The only man who was like that with me was Uncle.  He always hugged me or brushed my hair. I never had many friends growing up.  But Uncle would try and tickle me when I was young.” That tiny smile returned, playing at the corners of his mouth.  Zuko tucked a piece of hair behind his ear. Sokka felt something warm and unfortunately familiar tug in his belly.

Zuko left a smudge of dirt in his wake.  Sokka reached a hand up, cupping it against Zuko’s face.  Zuko froze. Sokka felt his pulse thrumming; he wiped the dirt away, smoothing along Zuko’s high cheekbones.  The urge to crack a joke stuck in his throat till he was unable to breathe, let alone speak.

“We should get back.  Before someone comes looking for us.” Zuko’s voice was scarcely louder than a whisper.

“Yeah, probably.” Sokka whispered back.

A crack of thunder echoed across the valley.  Pattering rain dripped through the crowns of the trees.  Zuko’s hair slicked down into his eyes. Sokka watched as gooseflesh raced across their arms.  Face boyish with years melting away, Zuko touched Sokka’s hand, and Sokka imagined he felt the whirls of Zuko’s fingerprints.  Sokka felt the world slow.

Finally, Zuko stood. Scooping his pile of wood into his arms, he said, “You coming?”

Scrambling up, Sokka also gathered his pile.  Zuko studied his shoes, nodding firmly before turning on his heel and walking back, disappearing into the misty rain.  

Sokka returned to that moment in the woods again that evening.  As he lay on top of his bedroll that night, too hot and sticky and uncomfortable to fall asleep, he remembered how Zuko looked then.  Like that night around the fire, those moments when he was. . .

Sokka curled in on his side, back facing the fire, face warm.  No sleep would come that night.

“I want to fight you.”  Sokka said the next morning.  Sitting against one of Appa’s paws, he drew his whetstone against his sword.

Zuko snorted, “What?  I thought we were past that.”  Zuko was running through firebending forms with Aang.  Their bodies twisting in complex patterns, Sokka followed the flow of energy as they moved together in tandem.  He turned towards Sokka for a moment, eyebrow quirked up.

“Yeah Sokka,” Aang said, “we’re friends now.”  His foot slid in a semicircle, kicking the dust up around them.  Fire followed in its wake. The two bent down, little licks of flame extending from the tips of their fingers.  Sokka ignored the way Zuko’s body arched and curled, shirt long discarded in the summer heat. His hands itched to touch—to feel the pull of his body against his—in a way entirely new yet as familiar as the weight of his sword.  

“No, not like that.  I want to practice my swordwork.”

Aang and Zuko twisted in time, limbs moving fluidly, cutting pale ribbons through the air.  They finished with a simultaneous kick outward, shooting out a stream of fire. Tendrils of smoke burning in his nose, Sokka turned his attention back to his blade.  

Katara slid down next to him, unloading her bag full of berries and other fragrant herbs.  “You so eager to get your butt kicked, Sokka?”

Scoffing, he said, “I’m fairly certain I could hold my own, _Katara_.  It’s just Zuko.”

The others laughed at him.

“Alright,” Katara said, smirking, “let’s seen then.”

Aang said, “Wait!  There’s a lake nearby.  Day off?” He smiled, big and mischievous.  Toph, lounging drowsily in a shaded area of the pagoda, shot her thumbs-up.

The next moment was Sokka facing off with Zuko, the steel of their swords glinting flashes of light.  Seated a reasonable distance apart, the others shaded their eyes to watch. Their hill was the apex of a gentle slope where sand met grassy earth.  Sokka widened his stance, planting his feet deep into the coarse sand. Zuko took a deep breath, arms tense and crossed gripping his dual broadswords.  

 Rushing forward, Zuko took the offensive.  Blades cutting forward in tandem harmony, Sokka twisted away.  A slick _shing_ rang out as their swords met.  Muscles bulging, Sokka forced Zuko backwards.  Feet dancing in even circles, Zuko rained blows down from overhead.  Sokka, aware of each pounding heartbeat, gathered himself and lunged a great parry.  

Zuko stumbled.    Lapping lake water sprayed up around him as he kicked his foot around, skimming the little crests into a fine mist.  Shifting his weight to the balls of his feet, he just saved himself from tipping into the water. Little droplets of sweat sluiced down his face, blotchy with exertion.  Distantly, Sokka heard Toph egging him on (“Get him, Sokka!”). He grinned. Zuko did the same.

A thrust forward.  Sokka bounced in the sand, imagining his body long and purposeful.

Twin parries that sent him reeling.  Zuko’s torso twisting and contorting like he himself was the weapon.

Sweeping Zuko’s legs out from under him.  Hitting the sand with a dull _thwack_ , Zuko wheezed with effort.  He blinked up at Sokka against the sun.  Distantly, he heard Zuko’s swords clang together after landing in the dirt.

A final pin with a sword just at the tip of Zuko’s chin, and he raised his hands in surrender.  For a moment they remained like that: Sokka standing, legs straddling Zuko’s waist; Zuko pressed into the sand, vulnerable with a blade to his jugular.  Until Aang and Toph’s whoops jostled them apart, their eyes held for a lingering while. Katara’s stretching smile and Aang’s looping arm around his neck made him feel loved and wanted but it was Zuko’s lingering glance that warmed him down to his core.

 They spent a while on that beach.  Katara and Aang showing off waterbending tricks while Toph and Teo chatted idly together.  Just seeing everyone so happy and _young_ and far from any worries about saving the world or overbearing fathers or lost loved ones relaxed the ever-present knot in his chest.  Sokka swam out a little ways to where the water was just too deep for his feet to reach. The water, cool and dark, sparkled against his sun-warmed skin.  Floating on his back, Sokka closed his eyes, feeling the tension drain out of him. The water’s current let him drift along, fingers gliding. He sighed.

“You put up a good fight.  Thanks, by the way.”

Sokka looked to see Zuko, bare chested and treading water.  

Sokka smiled.  “I should be thanking you, jerk,” he said, goodnaturedly.  

“I didn’t realize how good of a swordsman you’d become.  You’re sword’s also really beautiful.” Zuko said this while gazing off somewhere in the distance.  Sokka watched with raptured fascination as a hesitant pink blossomed along his cheekbones. His voice was achingly gentle.  Want wrapped a choking hand around Sokka’s throat, need clawed at his stomach.  

“I made it from a meteor.  While I was studying with Master Piandao.”

“Really?  That’s pretty cool, actually.  You know no one else has one like yours.”  

Something left unsaid, Sokka knew, laid in those words.  

From the shore, Katara called, “Hey you two!  It’s getting late. We’re gonna head back!”

Sokka waved, calling back, “We’ll be out later.”  He turned to Zuko, “Ready to get back?”

“Maybe we could sit on the shore?  It’s kind of nice being out here.” There was the unheard _with you_ that Sokka longed to fill in.  Instead, he began the swim back.  He could hear Zuko following him.

The sun hung low in the sky—not quite ready to move below the horizon but no longer afternoon.  They stretched out in some vain attempt to soak up the last of her outstretched rays.

“One time, when we were trying to get into Ba Sing Se, we had to cross this giant canyon.  And there were two tribes who just _hated_ each trying to cross with us.  We ended up having to fight these _giant_ cave crawlers—” Sokka’s arms gestured wildly “—and in the end, Aang just fucking _lied_ about both of their histories to get them to reconcile, so we could get the hell out into Ba Sing Se.”  

Zuko laughed, head thrown back and shoulders shaking, “I should’ve joined up with you guys earlier.”

Sokka sat up, wrapping his arms around his knees, looking askance at Zuko.  He loved making Zuko laugh. He wanted to do it again.

He said, “We sure did have some wild times.  Did you ever hear about when we thought the swamp was trying to kill us, and we met those weird swamp benders?”

Zuko nodded, “Yeah, a bit ago.”

Silence fell between them again.  Zuko drew patterns in the dirt. Sokka picked at his nails.

“Sokka, the other day when we were in the woods, and you asked me about if men in the Fire Nation could get married, why’d you ask?”  Zuko said, staring off into the water. Sokka could see how his hands twisted nervously around and around each other.

“Oh,” he began, “Zuko, I—” his tongue seemed to stick to the inside of his mouth.  A stray fluff from a blooming golden lion flower caught in Zuko’s hair. Sokka felt himself come undone, seam by seam.

Resting a calloused hand on Sokka’s face, Zuko leaned in and kissed him.  Dry and warm and brief. Before he had a chance to leave, Sokka pulled him back.  Every night of missed sleep, every lingering day dream, every fleeting moment, he poured into the kiss.  Sokka had one palm on Zuko’s knee, the other winding in his hair. Zuko’s fire-roughened hand never left his jaw.   Sokka’s stomach trembled as Zuko traced his face, kneaded the space behind his ears, smoothed along the nape of his neck, ghosted across his collarbones.  

They parted for a moment.  Zuko gasped, breath fanning out between them.  Sokka nodded in agreement. Zuko traced the outline of Sokka’s mouth which was parted and damp.  The pad of his thumb pressed against his lower lip.

“Sokka, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this.  You’re distracting.” Their foreheads rested against each other.  Sokka laced their hands together.

“Yeah?” he said, kissing each of Zuko’s knuckles slow and reverent and ardent.  

Making a low noise in his throat, he surged forward, knocking Sokka back.  Zuko felt solid, heavy, and _present_ with their hips pressed together, noses knocking together, lips lingering.

Every thought flew out of his mind besides the arduous patter of his heart against his ribcage and the taste of Zuko’s tongue.

They tussled for a moment, testing each other's strength, finding places that made the other bite back moans.  Sokka ran along the length of Zuko’s chest, tweaking dusky nipples, marveling at the power contained in the sinews of his body, swallowing every keening noise.  

Zuko sucked a mark where Sokka’s neck met his shoulders, holding him down.  Dizzy, Sokka tried to keep with the flutter of Zuko’s movements. Hips rocking together, legs tangled, Sokka’s eyes falling shut.  When Zuko sucked another purpling bruise between his collarbones, Sokka hummed. He felt a pressing heat scrawl between his legs, throbbing.  

Sokka, sitting up, manoeuvred Zuko to lay against him, front to back.  Zuko was a burning weight against Sokka’s chest. Warm, pleasant, _physical._ Zuko’s long, long legs—bare and freckled and pale—pressed so perfectly against Sokka’s own amber skin, turned deep brown by the days spent outdoors.  Zuko, head turned into Sokka’s neck, gasped wetly in his ear as he twisted his hand around Zuko’s length. He ran his free hand down Zuko’s strong bicep, tracing the dip of his elbow, the bump of his wrist bone, the mountains and valleys of his fingers.  

“Sokka—” he gasped, “ _oh_.”  His pelvis canted up into Sokka’s grip.  Reaching down, Sokka teased his tender thighs.  Zuko tensed, arching into the sensation. Biting his fist, Zuko let out breathy _ah— ah— ahs—_  Sokka, rocking his pelvis against Zuko’s backside, felt sparks skitter along his bones with every press of his cock up, _up_.

“Is this.  Is this good?” Sokka panted.  He nosed the notches of Zuko’s spine, breath damp and eyelashes fluttering.  Dragging his thumb along the tip, he gathered wetness there. Zuko’s abdomen fluttered with a fluctuating moan.  Sokka recalled the nights spent longing and wondering what it would be to taste that sound. Now, with it echoing in his ears, he twisted his fist and pressed at the sensitive space behind his balls.

Their knees knocked as Zuko’s leg’s skittered along grass, toes curling into the sun-warm earth.

“Yeah,” he managed out.  Eyes half-lidded, Sokka bent down to kiss his way along the ridge of Zuko’s shoulder, tip-toed his way up his neck, and ended at the hinge of his jaw.  Zuko’s shuddered. Sokka tightened his grip.

Sokka huffed a moan as Zuko’s body jerked backward.  With Zuko’s nails leaving little crescents in his arm, Sokka began moving faster, pressing at Zuko’s pelvis holding him close and still.  Zuko held in a whine.

Stilling Sokka, he said, “Wait!”

Paused, Sokka said, “Is something wrong?”  Amazed by the roughness of his own voice.    

“Let’s try this.”  Zuko moved himself out of Sokka’s arms, who immediately missed the burning heat of his body, and sat legs splayed over Sokka’s, facing him.  Sand clung to bits of his skin—his thighs, his chest, his elbows. Sokka was at once charmed and overwhelmed with clawing arousal _._  

Zuko lined them up, wrapped one hand around them both, and began to stroke slow.  Eyes shut, mouth open, Zuko seemed to glow as the sun formed a halo around his fly-away hair.  His free hand clutched at Sokka’s broadening arm, and though his movements were clumsy and unpracticed, the feeling of their cocks sliding against each other—of being wrapped together—made waves of pulsing tension coil in his gut.  Their foreheads rested against each other again, and from that angle, Sokka wished to count every different colour he could find in Zuko’s eyes, memorize the lines of his face, make a map out of everything that made Zuko the man he was.

Sokka ran his hands along every piece of skin he could.  The curling bits of hair at the apex of his thighs, the dip of his back, the firm pectorals, the cutting hip bones that caused sharp spikes of pleasure to race through him.  Every part of him was perfectly crafted and finely tuned. Zuko was a puzzle, an engineering marvel to study and understand. Sokka would know him from the inside out.

When Zuko came (with a quiet, soundless breath of air), Sokka followed right after.  Their mess slicked across their abs, dripped down along their thighs, and dotted their hands.  Zuko collapsed onto him. Sokka fell back against the sand.

Neither spoke for a beat—the sound of their breaths a natural addition to the croaking of frogs and ___shush__ _of water and rustling of trees.  
Zuko said, “Sokka, if the war ends—”

“ _When_ the war ends,” Sokka corrected.

“When the war ends, have you thought about what comes after?”

“Honestly?  Not really. Everything right now’s been about making sure everyone’s safe.  I’ve been trying to get through this. I mean, I never thought I would even leave the South Pole for the longest time.”

“I think, after all this is over, I’d like to spend more time with you.  Just the two of us.”

Sokka felt a great burden lift from his shoulders.  It felt a great deal like the first time flying on Appa or Suki kissing him for the first time or when he mastered ice dodging with Bato.

“I’d like that too.”

“I’ll always be able to find you.”

“How?”

Zuko pointed up, taking Sokka’s clean hand in his own, “There’s the North Star.  I’ll always be able to find my way to the South Pole by making sure it’s behind me.”

“In my tribe, we called it __Nuuttuittuq__ : ‘The One that Never Moves.’”

“I like that.  It sounds beautiful.  You should write a book or something.  I think it would be nice for the world to know more about the Water Tribe.”

“Maybe.  I could get the whole tribe in on it.  It would be a nice way to rebuild.” Sokka paused.  “I’d like to get to know the Fire Nation. At least, you’re favorite parts anyway.  More stuff like the dancing dragons.”

Zuko laughed, “I think I can manage that though Uncle knows much more than me.”

“Once the war’s over, we’ll have all the time we need.”

“I know.”

The sun had finally set, and there they sat: two boys mussed from lust and scarred from war and filled with hope.  For once, Sokka did not ignore the future. For once, Sokka allowed himself to envision a future filled with love. And for once, as he kissed Zuko once more underneath those many stars, he did not fear.

**Author's Note:**

> Source for Inuit constellation lore:  
> Macdonald, J. (1998). _The Arctic Sky: Inuit Astronomy, Star Lore, and Legend._ Toronto: ROM.


End file.
